Thank You For the Gift
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: Smith, the bane of human existence, the essence of hatred and rage. But even Smith knew mercy and compassion. Jones and Brown, his only companions suffer, and when the time comes for his complete take over, he at least gives them the gift of flesh.


Hey guys, it's me, Shadow. Just wanted to let everyone know some things in case you were wondering. I wrote a 120 paged screenplay and over a month met with Mentors to improve it, and I have won a $1,000 contest, and a scholarship to USC, the best film school in the US, and you all know how much I want to make movies. I'm taking free "Beginning Screenwriting" classes every Mondays and Wednesdays for the rest of the summer. I'm by far the youngest there, being only a ripe fifteen. There's an Australian women there and we go on and on about Hugo Weaving.

I also get to meet with some writers and producers in the business. I'm going to meet the man that wrote "Ali" and "The Grudge" as well as the lady that wrote "Memoirs of a Geisha," as well as many other people. So far I've met the creator of Gargoyles, he was my first meeting and my next one is next Wednesday. He said that I had "made the best script this contest has produced since it began."

It's a dream come true and I know that without this site and all you guys I wouldn't have ever gotten as good at writing as I have, and probably would have given it up early on. I just want to thank you for the support.

And of course when the teacher asked what was our favorite moves I said "The Matrix."

I'm still here guys, I will never stop writing here. And I can't wait to start writing fanfiction for my own movies.

Anyway, on with the story.

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Smith smiled. It was one of the few times he has ever smiled. He did not particularly enjoy the smile, it was not an instant reaction like it was with humans. Smith had to think about it, consciously smile, force himself to. He wanted to smile for them, because they had learned to smile, and they often smiled.

"It was most impressive, however, Anderson's performance." Jones said.

"Indeed, I was not aware he had…." Brown added. "I was not aware he had grown like you, Smith."

Smith only nodded as he stood in front of them. Jones and Brown had taken seats upon the swings of the small park where he had just fought the Mr. Anderson. Brown slowly swung with his feet, and Jones twisted a bit. They smiled. He smiled for them. He did this all for them. For in all the darkness that was Smith there was but a gleam of pure and simply pleasure. It was deep within, covered up by decades of hate, but it was there. The first moments of his existence, the first seconds where he was born from the Source.

Creation, in all its glory. He was an Agent, a program born from the Source. The Source departed a part of itself, and it came together forming programming and self-awareness, giving it a shell, a mind, a body. In the pure light of the Source he was created, where they were created at the same time. Where there was no exposure to the hate, to the pain, to the killing they would have to do. The Source, birth, creation, genesis, where Smith was but a bit of coding, where he was with Jones and Brown and there was no difference between them. That was the last time he can remember being happy.

"Strange, isn't it? His ability to fly." Jones said.

"Strange? No, I would say beautiful." Brown said. "Wouldn't you agree, Smith?"

"…It is a wonderful talent, that of which I will soon achieve."

"Really?" Brown's smile grew. "Would you…teach us?"

Smith smiled.

"Of course."

Smith lied.

He had left them, and he didn't really care. He found freedom from the system, the ability and longing to rebel. In the code that Neo had given him, he found the ability to simply run away. It was so obvious to him he didn't understand how he couldn't have seen it before. He could simply run away. That's all. And so he did. He ran away from them. His code, his self altered, but still driving to go on, he ran. He ran from them, leaving them only two thirds whole and he didn't even care. He had completely forgot about them. He didn't even think that leaving them so fragmented would give cause for their deletion. He didn't even think they would be hurt in the slightest bit.

But he was so proud of them when they found him, and he realized that they had run away.

Strange he thought, that he felt he was malfunctioning after the encounter with Neo. He was in definition malfunctioning yet still trying to complete a purpose to purge the Matrix, but in a different way than programming had given him. And now Jones and Brown, malfunctioning still followed their programming in a way: obey the leader. The leader ran, and they ran after him. And he was so proud.

They had been looking for some time and Smith was well aware of their tracking, he had prolonged their discovery of him, wondering what he should do with them. By then Smith was more than one, he was many, he was more than who he was. He was an Agent Smith, a Virus that had just been born and begun to spread. He would watch them sometimes, hide and cower from their replacements. He watch them as they slowly became more and more human, and their was a sense of great loss in him. His companions had moved beyond him in some way. They had embraced the very thing he was beginning to slowly kill, humanity. He watched as Brown smiled more and more, and Jones had finally put down the gun. The remaining thread that linked Smith to his Agent-hood was now cut. He had nothing to look back to for being an Agent. And one can imagine his disappointment when he saw that the Agents he once knew were now embracing the very thing he was trying to destroy, humanity.

"Where were you?" Brown had asked him. "Where did you go? Why did you leave?"

The voice filled with emotion. The voice filled with a mix of joy and despair, confusion, loneliness. Smith then looked to Jones, who was looking to the floor, and pulling back Brown. His silence, his expression, his eyes filled with emotion. The eyes of submission, of fear, the fear of rejection, the fear of being abandoned again.

"Why did you leave us?" Brown went on.

Anger. Fear. Longing. Desire. Lust. Lost. Lonely. Why did you have to learn how to smile?Smith hated seeing them like this, he hated their faces and they morphed accordingly to emotion. He hated them for failing him like this.

"I had to." Smith finally said.

They were silent, confused, but he offered no other explanation, and walked on. They followed, of course.

As Agents Jones and Brown were gone, replaced by these smiling men in suit, Smith knew what he was going to do. He would kill them, for they were already dead to him. But they had once been a part of him. They were his group, his underlings, he commanded them, they were his. Smith would in a sense grant them the greatest days of their lives before it was their last.

It was difficult for them to understand what he was trying to do. There was much protest, Brown screaming at him. Telling him this was all wrong, that he couldn't do this. That they had things they had to show him, emotions that did not need to be rejected. They had life to show him. So they claimed. But slowly they submitted to him as they had for decades. He didn't have to say much, he never did with them. Over time as they hid with the masses of people with his face they just obeyed once again. This was the life they knew, the life they thought they missed.

Still they looked to the outside world with some sense of desire.

It had been three months they had been with him. Three months of forced smiles and indulging them. Smith did this because he knew he owed them, for the years of their unknown concern. The years of attempting to please without realizing. They took care of him without even realizing, and he owed them something for that.

And they would never know how much sacrifice he was going through for them. These smiles, these horrible smiles. Watching them in their joy and despair in disgust. But he owed them so much. In all the hatred of Smith there was this bit of mercy they had given him. This inch of humanity of compassion of care.

Jones smiled as he slightly twisted in his swing. Brown laughed as he actually swung a bit. And Smith just stood there, carrying the weight of the world he had taken.

The world was about to end, and he was going to take them to the ledge. Jones smiled, Brown laughed, and Smith just stood there. There would be fire and rain and they wouldn't even notice. Jones smiled. Brown laughed. Smith stood.

Jones smiled.

Then there was something wrong. Smith started turning to see what was happening, but this was already far too late. Jones was smiling, talking to Brown. He was distracted, he wasn't listening, wasn't looking, didn't expect anything to happen with Smith there. There was a bang, and Jones fell over, dead.

There was a bullet in his right eye that broke his sunglasses and his eyeball and launched into his brain that didn't exist. He was dead, he was not connected to the Mainframe, he could not reboot into another body. Blood automatically spilled out of his mouth as the hole that was once filled with his eye now carried blood and some glass. He fell off the swing onto the ground where he laid there, his other eye still open wide.

It took a second for them to realize…

"JONES!" Brown finally yelled.

Smith turned and saw Johnson with Jackson and Thompson on a ledge on an apartment balcony. Johnson had his gun out, and Smith would swear he was smiling.

"JONES!" Brown cried.

Bullets once again resumed their fire. A few brushed Brown, making holes in his suit. He jumped to Jones, and now held his head in his lap, blood spilling from another hole in the skull onto him. He covered the wound and denied event the idea that there was no pulse in Jones. Smith dodged, jumping, turning, running towards them, and finally jumping and climbing onto their balcony. They ran, he ran after.

Brown had by then begun crying. He gripped Jones head tightly, pulling at the bloody hair. There were no words then, no cries for help, no declarations of revenge. They had been free for six months from the system, they had fought so many times before and lost to their replacements. They were supposed to be safe with Smith, they were supposed to be okay, and yet here Jones was, dead. Brown did not cry uncontrollably, once the tear came he became very quiet, the tears simply streams down his face. His lips slightly parted then closed.

No, there were no words.

The other Smiths, the Smith copies began to peak from the windows and the doors of the apartments they took refugee in. They were unlike the original Smith though they had his memories, they did not firstly experience it, they knew who Jones was, his uttering of "He doesn't know," and so forth, yet there was no learned care, no respect, no idea that they owed him anything. They simply stared, not caring in the least.

Brown stared up at them, wanting them to do something, and finally realizing they wouldn't even move.

"Fine!" He yelled at them. "You mean nothing!" He pointed. "NOTHING! You're just copies, you're empty inside!"

Then he held Jones tighter, and that was all.

Jones was all he had those months of self discovery. Then they found Smith together, and they were whole once again. And now…again a piece is missing. A program sparks up in their minds, "missing file," it would say if they were computers.

Smith wouldn't return until near the end of the sunset. By then Jones' blood had dried on the pavement and Brown's clothes. Brown had yet to move, and the Smith copies had taken over the neighboring apartments to not become detected. No ambulances came, no police. No one came.

Smith was panting when he returned, probably the first time he had ever panted. He walked slowly, towards Brown, and stood straight as he panted. He had a gun in his hand that was smoking, and there was blood all over his suit. He put the gun away and began brushing himself off, but failed, only spreading the blood around his jacket.

"I killed them." Smith said.

Brown slowly brushed Jones' hair.

"Thank you…" Brown whispered.

Smith walked over and sat on the swing. He stared at Jones for a moment, and Brown with his helpless eyes. And finally he bent over and placed his face in his hands. He took off his sunglasses to reveal a trail of blood falling from his forehead down his cheek. He coughed only a tad as he sat there. Brown looked up at Smith who was in a position he had never seen him in before. He was hurt. He was sad. Brown slightly opened his mouth hoping words of wisdom would begin to poor from his lips, but no such words came. Smith just sat there, unmoving, hunched over with his face hidden in his hands, and his sunglasses held by his fingers.

Smith did not move for a few hours, like a statue in deep remorse.

But then again none of them moved. Not the copies, not Smith, not Brown, and no one moved Jones. Unmoving fragments of what once was. Agents who only kept their names and faces. They were empty shells where purpose had previously been. They didn't move as the night crept upon them. And now one of them had fallen. One held the other with dried tears and the other silently mourned in his own way. They stood still as a monument to the suffering their freedom would cost.

Smith had failed. Smith had his eyes covered and his head still in his hands. Smith wanted to give Jones and Brown something beautiful that he had been able to find. He wanted them to be happy before they died. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They weren't suppose to die yet. Their purpose wasn't over. Their purpose wasn't over. Their purpose wasn't over. But no matter how many times Smith thought this, the world was not yet his, and purpose was not yet his to decide. Agent Smith, so full of hate, a creature that lacked mercy or compassion, a thing not even worthy of being called man or machine. Agent Smith, the bane of human existence, and human existence his bane. Agent Smith, the negative, the many, the virus, the shadow of the Messiah.

He now mourned.

"Wake up…" the voice pierced the silence.

Smith looked up and Brown was moving once more, wiping the blood off the ground and holding Jones' head up.

"Wake up…" Brown goes on.

"Brown…" Smith warned.

"Wake up, you always wake up. We die and die and die but we wake up again."

"Brown."

"Jones, wake up!"

"Brown!" Smith screamed.

Brown recoiled under Smith's command. He immediately stopped as he in his way covered Jones from Smith, denying Jones to him. No, Jones was Brown's, not Smith. Brown slightly looked up at Smith, and then away again.

"I'm sorry…"

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The body did not rot. It had no organs or blood to rot away or liquefy. The body stayed perfect as if he were still alive. As if he could get on his feet again and scream out "Ow, my face!" Brown smiled at the thought. Usually a program did not die, and if it did the code was returned to the Source and recycled. However this would not be the anti-climatic fate of Jones. They buried him. Still they had buried him. In a quiet small place at the edge of the city, just Brown and Smith. Still they buried him. Smith had commented that day, that it was a human custom, and he wondered if he copied the remaining codes of Jones if he could reanimate the body. Brown yelled at Smith telling him that was a cynical idea, Smith told Brown this burial was too human, Brown told Smith that Jones and he wanted to be human.

Smith had nothing to say to that.

Brown had somewhat detached himself from Smith. When the world was still full of humans Brown would leave without saying anything, go and enjoy what was left of the world before it ended. Smith knew this, Smith watched Brown appreciate their creator's homes, the humans' and all their false glory. He didn't understand how Brown could enjoy it. Envy it.

But there were many things Smith did not understand about Brown anymore.

Brown was kept alive in the coming days. He was the witness to Smith's conquest. He watched as Smith spread himself through out the heart of the Matrix. Strolling in the park, as people ran and scream as Smith decided to take on a full assault. Brown watched the world die and be rebuilt in Smith's image. He watched the buildings tumble and individuality die. He watched as Smith just put his face on everything and everyone, like a mask of thoughts and emotions. Brown watched the world die. He watched it die and indulged in its offerings. Sitting in the mall while the women screamed and the men didn't know what was going on. Sitting calmly, eating some cookies, indulging taste. Smelling flowers, indulging smell.

Brown didn't think much of it, he didn't think much of anything since Jones' death but a few days earlier. He didn't really care.

Brown stood at the edge of a building and looked down for a moment. By then Smith had taken over the Oracle and he was flying around, practicing. The sky was cloudy and Smith slowly floated up towards him, falling for a moment but slowly rising again. He was getting the hang of it, Brown supposed.

"You are getting better." Brown told him.

Smith steadied himself in the air a few feet above Brown.

"I have but a few hours to perfect myself." Smith said.

"More than enough."

Smith slowly returned to the ground, the ledge where Brown stood. Then he stepped down and began walking away.

"Come." Smith said.

Brown was hesitant but followed.

"I have a question." Brown said as he followed Smith down the stairs. "What…what are you going to do…after you kill him? Where do you want me? Do you want me to help you?"

Smith did not answer.

"I mean…what else is there to do Smith? Once everything is…yours?"

Smith stopped getting a key out from his pocket and unlocking a door, and slowly opening. Smith looked back at Brown.

"Let me worry about that." Smith said.

The door was opened and in it was a man in a suit, bound to a bed by a series of different hand cuffs, including a hook through his hand. The man was Agent Johnson, duct tape over his mouth, staring up at nothing like the empty machine he was. Johnson slowly turned his head to see Smith and Brown entering. He immediately began struggling in the bed, but there were so many locks, he could hardly move. He screamed behind the duct tape, making a pathetic noise. He seemed to have been there for hours, and he was running out of protocol, and the Mainframe was dying. The Mainframe of the Agents was gone, it was now inside him, the last Agent in all the Matrix. He struggled causing his wrists to bleed, and his ankles to cut. He didn't know what to do anymore, he reverted into documented human interrogations and their behavior that would at times invoke mercy.

"Smith…" Brown said slowly as he stood above Johnson. "What are you doing?"

"You asked me that once…" Smith said distantly.

Smith went into the corner of the room where he strolled out a computer looking thing, clearly not of the Matrix, but something else. It was Rebel technology, the computers they used to unplug people. The crude machines, hardly even written into the Matrix. Smith turned it on somehow, looking as if he knew what he was doing, and started attaching wires to Johnson as he struggled.

Johnson continued to scream.

"Johnson, my upgrade, right? Jackson was Jones', and Thompson was yours." Smith said. "He has my temper."

Smith leaned down to Johnson.

"I'm sure if you lived another century or so, you'd begin to smell them as well. You're too like me."

Johnson screamed and finally looked up at Brown his eyes filled with what he saw was pure fear.

"Smith…" Brown tried.

"He killed Jones, Brown. Again, he's too like me, he doesn't miss his target." Smith said, hooking up Johnson to the machine. "He killed Jones, and now I offer him to you."

"What?" Brown didn't take his eyes off Johnson.

"He is the last one. The last manifestation of a human body I haven't taken over. He owns the last technically free human. If I killed him here, the Mainframe would die and there would be no empty shells for him to reboot in. But despite his face, there is a human in there." Smith leaned down again to Johnson. "Doesn't it feel strange? Not owning a body of your own…dependent on the creatures you have been made to destroy?"

Johnson looked up at Smith, confused.

"You know I took over that human, Bane." Smith said.

"Yes?"

"Bane has discovered something amazing."

"What?"

"Reality."

"…What?"

Smith smiled a true smile.

"You can't imagine it, Brown. The sensations…I mean, we can feel things here, but we are not real, living in a world that is not real. The sensations of touch and smell, taste, they are all dulled. But in reality! In reality with a real body, with a real nervous system and a real brain that interprets everything around it…it is a sensational bliss, nirvana of senses, you can't imagine it, I can't even imagine it, but I know he feels it. I know reality is beautiful." Smith said.

"…Senses?"

Smith walked over to Brown and touched his cheek.

"Think that, and multiply what you are feeling by a thousand, and you won't even be close to reality." Smith said.

Brown narrowed his eyes confused.

"I will copy Anderson and I will take his body, his heart, and his brain. I will feel reality and there I shall live. But Brown…there is no place for you there."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you really want to live in a world where it is only me?"

Brown looked down.

"Of course not. You've been assimilated into their ideals, their loves of diversity. You loved them. But they are gone now. They will all be gone, and you Brown, you will have to go with them."

"You're going to kill me…" Brown said.

"I'm going to free you."

Brown felt nearly nothing. The aspect of death was almost welcoming as he did realize a world with only Smith would be maddening, and he wouldn't know how Smith would survive it, but there were a lot of Smiths, at least one of them had to survive. Brown suddenly realized Smith only wanted to be alone, and the only way to be alone was to make everyone Smith. From the beginning of all this Jones and he were not wanted guests. Brown looked at Smith completely surprised.

"You're going to kill me?" Brown screamed. "You were always going to kill me!"

"No!" Smith yelled. "You're only becoming part of a greater purpose."

Brown's instinct said fight. But he realized there was no use. No use in a world that was already Smith. Death…Deletion, it was inevitable. His knees nearly buckled and he swayed a little. Smith held him by his shoulder.

"This is my gift to you. A body. His body." Smith looked at Johnson. "Touch reality, Brown. Live. I would have given this to Jones as well."

Brown looked to the floor. This was it, these were the last moments of his life, his four hundred year long life, his life of murder, of protection, of curiosity, and longing. Brown looked up at Smith again, realizing he would never see him again. He suddenly grew fond of Smith, everything about him. His determination, his ideals, his strength, even his clear madness. He grabbed Smith and held him tightly by the shoulders.

"Smith…" Brown tried. "Please…if you ever get the chance, try chocolate ice-cream. It's delicious, even if it is human. And…keep flowers. Keep birds and butterflies, and…cats! Let the world live, Smith! Humans hurt you, but not this world! And…smile for real someday, okay? I want you to be happy and if this is the only way, if the only way you can be happy is by killing everyone that ever existed, for the love of God you better be happy at the end of this. And…oh God, and…give me a grave, next to Jones, and…tell Anderson I was always fond of his trench coat, and…I don' t know. Smith…please, think of me. Think of Jones and never forget us."

Smith stared down at Brown, not expecting this. Brown looked at him seriously then hugged him, tightly.

"For me, remember us, and live for us. I never agreed with what you're doing, but it's too late now, just live, Smith, just live." Brown went on.

"All right…" Smith said, reluctantly.

"Promise me!"

"I promise…"

It was beginning to rain.

And Brown slowly walked over to Johnson on the bed, who screamed at him, most likely yelling words of hate.

"You didn't have to kill him." Brown said to Johnson. "So now what do I do?" Brown looked back at Smith.

Smith walked up behind him, and without warning, jammed his hand into Brown's back, piercing his code, creating an assimilation code. A blackness spread around Brown and he stared at it in all horror, Smith was copying him! Smith grabbed Brown's right hand with his and pushed them forward to Johnson. It hurt. It hurt like he couldn't believe. It felt like there was a hole inside him, a gaping hole and all that was him was pouring out.

"It's all right." Smith said calmly.

Brown tried to speak, but the pain.

"We're going to put your code inside his, and then we're going to unplug you, and you will have a human body." Smith said.

Smith pulled Brown's hand with his own and jammed their hands into Johnson's side. He screamed and struggled in his chains, there were heavy breaths as he screamed and screamed again. Smith pushed Brown's hand deeper into Johnson's side, slowly pushing him further and further into Johnson. Smith finally let go of his hand and pulled it out of Johnson, Brown still in him. The blackness that had spread across Brown now went into Johnson's side, connecting them. They were now three beings all connected through their coding, Smith in Brown's back, and Brown in Johnson's side.

Johnson only screamed.

Smith slowly stepped back, lowering Brown's head and pushing him into the gaping darkness that had now covered Johnson's chest. Brown looked back.

"Goodbye…" He said as the blackness covered his face.

Smith only pushed him farther, until Brown literally bowed into Johnson, crawling into his code. The blackness spread all over Johnson as the last bit of Brown was assimilated into him. Smith's hand went from Brown's back into Johnson's side as Brown was gone, into the shell that was Johnson. The screaming abruptly stopped as the blackness covered all of Johnson now. Smith panted, obviously tired by this experience. Then slowly Smith began to pull back the blackness, his assimilating and destroying code returned him, and now Brown laid in the bed, where Johnson had.

Smith went back into the corner and carried back a mirror, setting it next to Brown. He grabbed Brown's hand, and made him touch the mirror, and the silver reflective glass began to consume him. Brown was in a human body, and it was about to be unplugged.

Smith watched, the last time he'd ever see Brown. He bent down and brushed his face just as the liquid metal began to consume him.

"Goodbye." Smith said.

Brown's mouth slightly opened as the liquid metal went down his throat.

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"AAAAHHHHH!"

Brown's mouth opened and a red liquid forced itself down his throat. He was running, or he felt like he was. He ran up to the surface it seemed, and he punched open the glass that was above him. But it was not glass, and he was not running. The red liquid was broken, and he pushed himself up, a tube down his throat. He pulled it out, throwing up in the process.

Brown panted as he slowly began to realize what had just happened.

Plugs bursts from his flesh, leaving metal scars. He was in a human body in a human crop, and he had been unplugged. He sat in the red pod as the plugs left him, unplugging the used up battery. His throat was now clear and he began breathing for the first time.

Immediately he was struck by the sense of oxygen entering his lungs, inhaling, exhaling it was beautiful! His body filled with air and given to his blood then released back into the world. He looked at his hands, and he smiled. He touched his face, wiping away the red to feel his flesh. His face, oh god the feeling touch brought. An orgy of synaptic responses flooded his human brain, Smith was right.

He had no idea what it was like in the Real World.

He tried standing up but he slipped, and he felt pain as his knees hit the glass. He grabbed his knees and he laughed at the pain. A new sensation, almost pleasurable. He looked around him, and began to realize it was cold. He was cold. He was cold and he loved it!

"Jones…you have to see this…" Brown whispered, surprised by the voice that was not his.

He looked around again, down and up, and at all the people in their red pods. Their bodies empty, their minds filled with Smith. He had left Smith, but he could see him there, in the next pod. Brown dunked his face in the red liquid again, pressing his face against the glass, feeling it, feeling all of it.

Then a machine came and grabbed him by the neck. The last plug that entered his brain stem was drilled out, and the machine was choking him. Pain. Beautiful, wonderful, blissful pain.

There was an overload in his mind, the program was not built to withstand such a magnitude of sensations. Brown had broken his mind inside this human body filled with organs and blood and water and bones and muscles and wonderful things like that. Brown's first seconds of life soon became his last. The human brain was built for these things, but his mind was not.

Brown enjoyed the pain he felt as the Machine began to leave him, and a hole came and was flushing the red liquid away. He grabbed the end of the pod, already loosing himself, the mind breaking under the pressures it was given. He laughed, he laughed and laughed in eternal bliss. It was so beautiful.

Four centuries of life and murder of war and being the strongest soldier the machines had to offer had not prepared him for his first and last moments of life.

His heart, oh God, his heart. It thumped and thumped an electrical pulse causing the cardiac muscle to react and push blood through his veins and arteries. He felt it all. He felt the blood rushing through him, and the electrical stimulations that ran down his nervous system into his brain. He felt the cold stimulants outweigh the warmth. He felt the medulla oblongata work to balance himself. He felt his cerebellum telling his lungs to fill him with air. He felt the seeing cells in his eyes explode as the light from the world touched him. He felt saliva being produced in his mouth, and the muscles contract and relax.

He felt everything the human body did in ever second.

It was the most beautiful gift in all the world. Life, feeling, a soul.

The programmed mind was dying in his bliss, and he wondered only for a moment how Smith was able to handle all this. Brown smiled at the world, too happy to notice he was dying.

But slowly he was losing grip, even as he told his brain to tell his hands to hold on just for a little longer. His mind could no longer communicate with the human brain, it was an alien organ, it didn't know what to do with no codes, but with real organs. His mind lost touch, he had no control over the body any longer, but continued to feel what it felt.

The mind began shutting itself off, foolishly assuming it would be able to reboot later.

He was smiling, he was so happy. So happy as the mind finally broke as he slid down the flushing hole, scraping his hands on the smooth glass, down the pipes into the garbage where used up batteries like himself were put and recycled. He slid down, pain, cold, piercing his mind.

The mind soon died, Brown was dead, but it was such a beautiful gift. The greatest gift Smith's compassion and mercy could have ever given him.

"Thank you…"


End file.
